The Side Effects of Amortentia
by blissfulvoids
Summary: Seventh Year Seamus smelling the aromas of Amortentia. The effects are clear, but the side effects were not supposed to be emotional. Based off a tumblr text post.


Based off of this textpost: post/148527506200/just-a-thought

"What have you got there?" Seamus asked, setting the book that he wasn't reading but still held in his hand down, focusing on Ginny who clutched a small bottle.

"Amortentia, love potion. Lavender and Parvati were holding a couple of bottles. I didn't ask, but they gave me some. Here, take a whiff." She handed the bottle to the sandy haired teen. "It makes you smell things that you're attracted to, remember?" Seamus nodded, and pulled the cork off of the bottle.

"Mind telling me what you smell?" He asked, the ginger shrugged.

"Broomsticks, flowery scents like daisies or lilies." She paused for a second. "And a couple other stuff."

Eyebrow raised but not wanting to push the subject any further, he took a small whiff of he potion, which was enough to let the scents kick in. It was all quite lovely. There was a small scent of butterbeer and spring, muggle pencil sharpenings, some weird mixture of summer and grass, a bit like-"

Seamus set the potion down quickly on the table and jumped out of his seat.

"Seamus are you-"

"Fine, I'm fine." He walked away from Ginny, who stared at him in confusion, but she quickly caught on. If she smelled the scent of Harry's heavy conditioner, he was probably smelling something from a loved one too. She guiltily picked up the potion to close it. Seamus didn't blame her, as he was too busy marching up the stairs to the boys dormitories, eyes burning. A shaky hand went through his hair as he flung the door open and drew the curtains of his side closed, letting himself sink to the floor. The teen knew the potion was supposed to make you feel dreamy and happy, since you smelled things that attracted you, but he couldn't help it.

It smelled so much like Dean.

Dean Thomas, his bestest mate, the one guy he fell head over heels with. A half blood who is considered muggle born and is on the run at the moment. A tall and really humorous guy who liked drawing and playing Quidditch who was probably risking his life right now. Dread fell over him, he couldn't believe himself. He couldn't believe himself for letting the grave idea be pushed to the back of his mind. That for one second he could forget that they were all in danger. And that damn smell of summer and grass because Dean loved sitting in the grass on a good sunny day, sketching whatever he wanted. They'd walk back to the common room and Seamus would smell that weird scent that was all the while still endearing because it was so Dean-like.

He promised himself not to cry, but it was months already. He missed his best friend so much, the sandy blonde always wished for the tall brown eyed male to be sitting in he common room whenever he entered, eyes fixated on his sketchbook. But it never happened, and he always had to race up to him dorm again, because tears just fell automatically. Seamus' shoulders shook, hands trembling as he leant against the cold wall, head lowered and legs propped up so his arms would lay limp on top of them.

He was a wreck.

He wanted Dean to be here with him. Probably beside him and teasing about how he cried so much, just to lift the tension. Dean was always the best at dealing with situations like these, because he was always so strong. Seamus loved him for that, the bloke joined a rebellion group against Umbridge of all things, he received heartbreak but picked himself up after that, he even decided to go on the run to be free from the torturing ways of the ministry. Which he hated. Plenty of nights were spent cursing the ministry and it's rule about Muggle-borns, in which Dean wasn't even a muggle-born to begin with. It was all just rubbish.

 _Was the male know as Dean Thomas even okay?_ A thought that Seamus hated thinking about, but God, he just had to. What if Dean was found? What would make of Seamus? Was he still alive? It was an awful thought. He just, missed him. Missed when the tall teen would have to crouch down to give Seamus forehead kisses, and when he'd call the sandy blonde by his nickname and how whenever they hugged Seamus could hear the faint thump of Dean's heartbeat. The nights where he'd crawl out of bed just to cuddle with Dean, no matter how lame that sounded. He always claimed that it was because of a nightmare, but the teen just wanted to be with Dean a bit more. Just hold him close for the hell of it, never letting go.

But it still happened anyway. He let him go.

He struggled mentally to pick himself up and the Carrows beating them up half the time didn't help either. His face was a wreck, bruises and cuts. The Irish wondered what Dean would say. Probably nothing, it's more of a question as to what Dean would _do_. Beating them up would be no question, the brown haired teen would never allow anyone to hurt Seamus. He would probably clean up his wounds too, scolding Seamus about not letting him throw anymore punches.

By God, he just wanted to hear his voice right now.

Seamus let out a shaky sobs, body tensing as he swiped every tear away. It was so pathetic. But he couldn't help but wish to go back downstairs and ask for a bit of the potion. Not to use, but maybe to smell once in a while. It was potion of love, of all things. And it gave him a sense of home, something he barely felt most of the time. It was a welcoming scent, that made him feel safe.

And it smelled so much like Dean.


End file.
